


The Healing Process

by Third_Phoenix



Category: Agent Pendergast Series - Douglas Preston & Lincoln Child
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:40:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24894814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Third_Phoenix/pseuds/Third_Phoenix
Summary: Another old work I'm uploading. This was written several years ago, before I realized switching POV's was confusing. I did some light editing and tried to fix it up, but the bulk remains.Pendergast travels to Viola's house following the aftermath of The Book of the Dead. Seeking comfort, his broken spirit awakens a nurturing response in Viola.
Relationships: Viola Maskelene/Aloysius Pendergast
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	The Healing Process

Viola Maskelene watched as the agent's form slowly made its way up her walkway. He had sounded so terrible on the phone; whatever end had occurred between him and his brother must not have boded well. He wouldn't tell her anything, only that he was coming to see her. She was praying it wasn't Diogenes again...

He stopped at the steps leading up to her back porch and stared up at her with an intensity that made her step back. His eyes, though dazzling in their remarkable shade of blue, conveyed an emotion of such pain and guilt that Viola realized what must have happened to his brother.

Pendergast mounted the steps slowly, his body tired and worn. When he reached the porch, he stood in front of Viola, keeping his eyes on the ground. Who was he to look at her? He shouldn't even be here. Everyone he knows ends up in a situation they don't deserve to be in. His hands hung limp at his sides as he stared down at the porch.

She didn't know what to say, or if she should even say anything. She was afraid to touch him. The agent naturally gave off an aura of control, of confidence; to see him standing here in front of her, eyes shining with the possibility of tears, was to see him naked. Viola took a tentative step forward, and then another, more confident one. Perhaps what he needed now was someone to care for him. Grabbing his hands, the cuts and dirt caught her attention.

Slowly, he raised his eyes to meet hers. It took everything in him just to maintain contact. She was so very pretty. His mother was pretty, yet she burned alive. Constance is pretty, but she was seduced and emotionally tortured by his own brother. Margo is pretty, and her fate still hung in the balance. All because of him. He didn't know why he came here; didn't know why he wasn't turning to leave now.

Viola felt him pulling his hands out of her grasp. She allowed his fingers to slide away from her palms, dropping back down to his sides, his shoulders slumping visibly. He stared at her for the briefest of moments, seemingly taking her in, before turning away towards the stairs again. She put a restraining hand on his shoulder and forcefully turned him around.

"Stay with me, Aloysius. I'll take care of you," she mumbled to him, holding his brilliant blue gaze.

That was all he wanted. He felt his walls crumbling down as he stepped towards again, pressing his face into her dark hair as her arms tightened around him; she smelled like cinnamon. A needy desire for her spread through his bones, his internal monologue praying that she didn’t ask him any questions.

Gripping him tightly, she could smell a mixture of the sea and lingering fire on his clothes. His arms tightened around her once again, leaving her feeling powerful and at a loss, all at once. Pushing him back, she scanned him quickly, assessing that all the little cuts on him were superficial. Satisfied that he wasn’t gravely injured, she took his hand and lead him inside her home.

Once in the kitchen, she brought him over to the sink. Languidly removing his suit jacket, Pendergast washed his hands and face, fingers trembling slightly as the warm water washed debris away. The numbness that was enveloping his mind and body began to ebb away; Viola’s presence was key. Perhaps that’s why he had persuaded himself to come here. Maybe he would even send for Constance tomorrow; it could be like a retreat for the pair. If Viola would have them. Pendergast was acutely aware of the feelings growing inside him: guilt, fear, resentment, longing, desperations…and something he couldn’t quite place.

"You need to rest, Aloysius," she told him in her most soothing voice; his only response was a curt nod of his head. Viola led him to her bedroom, hoping the enigmatic agent wouldn't feel uncomfortable in it.

They entered the room slowly. It was spacious, with two large windows, the curtains drawn back to allow the sun to filter through. Viola turned to look at Pendergast as he sidled up next to her, catching his eye as some of the rays shone onto his face. His skin seemed to shine as the sun licked his face, and his blue eyes had never looked so magnificent. He was utterly breathtaking to behold.

Pendergast stared at her as the sun made its way to her dark hair, making it look glossy and smooth. It reflected in her eyes, making them shine the most brilliant jade he had ever seen. His mind traveled back to their first encounter; he was so moved by her beauty that he had been at a loss for words.

"Well, here we are," she said, regaining her composure. "You can sleep here of course, no need to be a gentleman and take the couch, I'll do just fine on it and I won't hear anything else of it. I can't do anything for you clothes wise, so just make yourself as comfortable as possible until we can get you something. If you need anything, let me know." He had sat down on the bed, keeping his eyes on her face. It made her edgy and warm at the same time.

Just as she turned to go, Pendergast spoke his first words since arriving. "Stay with me. Just for a little while.” It was almost a whisper.

Taken aback, she peered down at him before replying with, what she hoped, was a nonchalant "of course." She stood there awkwardly as he crawled into bed, kicking off his shoes, not sure of where he wanted her.

"With me," he repeated, waving his hand over the right side of the bed. Already barefoot, Viola crawled into bed next to him. She had pictured crawling into bed with him before, but never like this. She was sure the last thing on his mind was what had been on hers during those fantasies…

She cuddled up next to him and decided to be a little bold. Grabbing one of his arms, she pulled him onto her, his head on her shoulder as she held him close; she couldn’t help but wonder if anyone had held him like this before. He seemed the type who wouldn't allow himself in such submissive position, but, surprisingly, he didn't object; quite the opposite, he rolled to her and dropped his head onto her chest.

He was well aware that his heart rate was accelerating, that his palms were beginning to sweat, that a tense longing was coursing through his body, focusing itself on areas of his body he tended not to focus on. She was beautiful; of that there was no doubt. But this was not the time. Yet it seemed to him that this was the only feeling keeping his mind off of his brother and everything that had happened…

Viola was burning with curiosity. What had happened to Diogenes? More than that, she wished she could break down Pendergast's walls. He was such a fascinating character: so aloof, so calm, so confident. Yet here he was, cradled on her like a child. She ran her fingers through his soft blonde hair, noticing the strands were longer than from the last time they met. Using her other hand, she began stroking his side, running her fingers up and down his ribcage. She felt his breathing speed up and wondered if he had fallen asleep. Suddenly, he stirred next to her, his fingers lightly dancing their way along her ribs and down her tummy.

This was what he needed. Slowly, still feeling her hand brush his side, he slipped his left hand under the hem of her shirt, running his fingers along her smooth skin. He felt the tension mount when she let out a soft sigh at his touch. Images of his brother, of ruined mansions, of Margo's coffin tore away from his mind as deeply repressed urges began swimming to the surface. He trailed his fingers along the waistband of her jeans as he pushed the image of Vincent, slumped in a chair and fighting for his career, out of his mind.  
Viola felt the tingling sensation spread over her entire body. Pendergast's fingers were cold, but on every spot he touched there lingered a burning sensation. She felt conflicted: on one hand, she couldn't deny to herself how badly she wanted him. He was the most curious, meticulous, attentive individual, and he always got the job done one way or the other. Did that carry over behind closed doors? On the other hand, he was so aloof, so against physical contact with other human beings. Would he regret this when the shock wore off of him? He didn't give her time to think. She felt him roll towards her, one large hand grabbing the side of her face before bringing her in for the most passionate kiss of her life. His lips were soft, his kiss so gentle. She reciprocated with urgency, finally giving herself over. She kissed him back a little more forcefully than she had intended, but it had only encouraged him. As she slid her tongue into his mouth, she began caressing his thighs, slowly moving inwards; the agent's body began to tremble. Backing off, not wanting to push him, Viola eased her hands away from his thighs, gently cupping his jaw.

His kisses were still so full of passion, full of this unbridled urgency. Viola found herself unable to control her body; sliding her hand away from the agent's face, she caressed down his neck and to his chest. He trembled again, but regained control of himself, his heart beating steadily as she moved her body closer to his; but she lost control when she felt other parts of his body throbbing in rhythm. Quickly, she undid the buttons of his dirtied white shirt, thankful when he helped her by shrugging out of it. He took her cue and lifted her blouse up and over the head, tossing it to the floor. His alabaster skin clashed ridiculously with her tanned body. He cupped one of her breasts in his hand, letting his fingers trail under her bra. Viola ran her hands down his smooth body, feeling his stomach muscles contracting at her touch.

Everything was fading away. He was so focused on the outside stimulation that he barely noticed the quick flashes of Diogenes' letter to Constance laying on her bed, blood still left behind on the sheets. He shut his eyes tight, mouth still on Viola’s, when he felt her hand roam to the front of his pants, stroking him through the fabric. He expertly removed her bra with one hand, freeing her full breasts, before lowering his mouth to her nipples, taking one in, swirling his tongue around. One of her hands pulled lightly at his hair while the other continued its slow massage. He felt himself growing frustrated and reached down with one hand to remove his belt, whipping it off and throwing it over the footboard. He undid his button with one hand before returning it to her breasts.

Viola took the hint and slowly pulled downwards on his zipper. She felt his skin grow cold, saw goosebumps appear on his flesh. He started shaking ever so lightly, his body tremoring at her touch. Was he cold, or scared? Her hand strayed away from him momentarily, and she was about to call this whole thing off when he grabbed her hand and slowly brought it to himself. She gently grabbed a hold of him, felt him pulsing with anticipation, and began to stroke him.

He brought his mouth away from hers in order to revel in the moment, resting his head on the pillows. Slowly he began to lose feeling as he thought about dear Miss Swanson, made to flee during a most trying time in her schooling; poor Mine, forced to shut himself off from the world entirely; Proctor, a loyal friend, told to run and hide like a coward. It was to protect them, yes. But maybe all the protection they need is for him to disappear out of their lives. He opened his eyes again and forced himself to take in the beauty that was Lady Maskelene. His eyes focused on hers, took in her full lips, traveled down to linger on the curve of her breasts, her flat tummy, before finally taking in the image of her hand on him. He didn't deserve this. She did.

Viola was mesmerized by him. The blissful expression on his face would be enough to send her over the edge if she focused on it enough. Then suddenly, his eyes flew open, making their way down her body as he drank her in. She felt him grow harder, and was filled with immense satisfaction that she did that. His hands were on her again, gently pushing her off of him and onto her back. Slowly, he undid the button of her capris, moving onto the zipper. Never breaking his steady eye contact, he slid her capris and panties smoothly off of her, revealing tanned skin and muscular legs. She could see him straining against his pants, and wondered why he wouldn't let her continue with him. She marveled at his self-control; this had to be torturous. Maybe he was masochist...

Slowly, he eased one long finger into her, meticulously thrusting it in and out. Viola gripped the bedsheets, afraid to touch him in case he stopped. After a few moments, he added another finger, sending a hot wave coursing through her entire body. He was moving so slowly, watching her face intently, never once looking down to see what he was doing; a master of any craft. Occasionally he would stoke her most sensitive area with his thumb as he continued working with his fingers, sending her entire body into overdrive. She began bucking her hips quickly, trying to urge him to move his fingers faster. Instead, he went slower. The pleasure was exquisite and yet torturous. He wasn't a masochist at all, he was a sadist! She didn't know how much more she could take. He brought his thumb up to rub her in small circles, sending all the blood in her body to that one area, then he began to increase speed and pressure, delighting her in the thought that she was about to have relief. Suddenly, he stopped, and began again with his agonizingly slow pace. She opened her eyes to view him and was startled to see his concentration unbroken. He leaned his body over her to allow his mouth to find hers, planting a deep kiss. Again, he quickened his pace only to deny her, forcing a displeased moan to escape her lips. When he quickened his movement a third time and she felt the hot waves rolling over her, she looked at him with pleading eyes, only to be denied again. A coy, satisfied smile spread over the agent's pale face. That was it.

Pendergast knew he was being torturous. He liked watching the sensations she was feeling conveyed on her face, and yet he wasn't willing to completely give it to her. After her third denial, Viola grabbed a hold of his shoulders and roughly threw him onto his back, straddling him, her strong thighs squeezing his hips. He was surprised, and incredibly turned on. She placed both of her hands on his neck, sending chills up and down his body, her knees pinning his hands to the bed. He squirmed under her, somehow at a loss for logical thinking. She placed her lips on his neck, kissing him slowly, dragging her lips along his skin, lowering them to his sensitive collarbones. The smell of her hair wafted up to him. As she licked along his collarbone, she rocked herself gently on his lower body. Again, his struggled under her, but she wasn't about to let up. Viola shifted her hips, making sure to increase the pressure as she moved. She laid kisses all down his torso, trailing her tongue along old scars. Lowering herself to his opened pants, she painstakingly removed them, running her hands along his aching shaft. She repeated this same drawn-out act while removing his boxer-briefs.

The melancholy expression she saw in his eye upon his arrival was gone now, replaced with a desperate lust. She brought herself back up to straddle him, hovering slightly above him. She locked eyes with him for reassurance; he nodded his head ever so slightly. She lowered herself onto him, taking in a sharp breath as he filled her. His eyes shut tight as the image of Diogenes and Constance tumbling into the volcano faded away from his mind entirely. Viola angled her body downwards and placed her mouth on his, returning all the passion he had kissed her with. He brought his arms around her body, running his hands down her back as he thrusted up to meet her. They were in perfect rhythm; each upward thrust from him was reciprocated with intensity.

Viola arched her body back upwards and placed her hands on Pendergast's chest for support, lightly trailing her fingernails on his chest and collarbones. She stared down at him as his eyes flitted closed; he was so very handsome. She felt his hips increase in speed, felt him grabbing at her own hips. A red flush was slowly ebbing its way onto his cheeks and spreading down his neck and chest.

He opened his eyes to watch their performance. The image of Viola expertly riding him sent him to a new level, and he began thrusting faster, hoping she would do the same and not get revenge on him for earlier. She seemed to know exactly what to do. He roamed his hands over her breasts and felt a hot wave wash over him as she let out a broken moan.  
She noticed he was intently watching, his focus split between the expressions on her face and watching himself smoothly slide in and out of her. A noticeable change came over his face when she began touching her breasts, giving him a show. His skin became even more flushed and his mouth began forming inaudible words; ever so quietly he was moaning. Fingers sliding downwards, he allowed her to grind against him, working her towards the edge. She felt him struggling under her, saw him biting his bottom lip so aggressively he drew blood, stifling his moans. The she realized: always the gentleman, he was waiting for her.

She handed herself over to him, grinding against his hand and moving herself up and down on him faster and faster until the agonizing wait was over in a flood of pleasure so immense, she could barely fathom it. Right after her release, she felt him grab a hold of her hips and thrusted up one last time, going deeper, bringing himself to the end. His eyes shut tight and he dug his nails into her back, finally letting out an audible moan of complete satisfaction.

They fell asleep not long afterward in each other’s arms; this time Pendergast holding Viola. He awoke some hours later, in the middle of the night, to find that she had rolled to the other side of the bed. He felt a longing for her, but denied himself the pleasure of rolling over to spoon her, to smell her hair, to hold her and feel his skin against hers. He was a loner. He prided himself on not needing the attention and contact of others. But as images of his brother's last moments mixed with the wild expression he had seen on Constance's face resurfaced to his mind, he convinced himself that, maybe tonight, it would be alright. Pendergast placed his body next to Viola's, her skin so soft and warm. He wrapped his strong arms around her and nuzzled his face into her hair, and slowly drifted off to sleep.


End file.
